Passage Obligé (EV)
by Trenzas
Summary: A sort of translation from the spanish version of the fic Passage Obligé
1. Chapter 1

Hello! This is the second time (i think) I'm trying to upload a translation of one of my spanish fics of the RoV. Well this was supposed to be a translation from the introduction of the spanish Passage Obligé, but as I translated the story I changed many things, like dialogues and very specifical events; this is something i cannot help for every time i read my stuff i think i could have done better...Sorry :) , but, what suffered no variations what so ever was what the characters discovered; the thing, the event that affects them, the thing that is supposed to be the spark that sets everything on fire. Anyway, i hope someone likes this text and finds it interesting at least.

OH! i apologize for my gramatical and orthographical errors, my first language is Castilian...Oh, please send a me review, good or bad, it doesn't matter.

Trenzas ^_^

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**Passage Obligé**

It would have been better to remain ignorant, but people grow older, earn their knowledge and irrevocably, they go through a sort of awakening.

For sure many of you are familiar to the latter idea; we might not even notice it due to the subtlety of its matter or we might just, because of the indigestible thickness that it's able to acquire. At times we don't even ask for it but it gets to you anyway, like an unwanted visitor.

Isabelle and Alexandre, met their mother for the first time days after the celebration of their birthdays, in early spring over the month of Germinal.

To celebrate the occasion they had been invited to a journey, at the outskirts of Brest, in Brittany. The invitation had been extended by a close and very old friend of their father's that kept a property over that northern region.

This friend, a woman, was rather unusual. Her name was Jarjayes and her first name Oscar, and during that time, when the French Consulate ruled over the population, she was known by most as Monsieur Jarjayes. That was the problem with her, that she was known as Monsieur.

The 27th day of Germinal their father managed to leave Paris and join to them. Only the fourth birthday celebration he'd missed, in 1794, when he'd been still residing inside Plessis, a prison. Happily, now it was 1803 and both of his children were turning thirteen.

They were twins yet, not from the identical kind. They shared light chestnuts, but one pair of blue eyes the boy had and one pair of green the girl. They grew evenly, healthy, with lively cheeks, quick minds and bodies, long and skinny figures, like _battons_. But this year the girl began to acquire soft and wavy shapes, turning different from her brother that looked slightly taller and thicker from shoulders and chest.

They were still very young though, beginners only, but time was ending for someone else. –They're growing so fast – the father said when the first piece of cake was cut by his daughter. The comment fell with all of its weight over Oscar's heart.

She became anxious and moody. She knew the mother of those children from many years, yet prejudices had encouraged her to keep that information from them. The door to that woman was half opened for them; letters and presents sent from abroad, but as years passed by the girl's curiosity sparked one hundred and infinite queries to her father and, regrettably, these chained to bitter quarrels between him and his son.

Three days later, guilt won the last duel with Oscar's conscience. Idle, she found them in the drawing room and fetched them, almost as one would have picked the chattel.

Both children suspected nothing yet. That woman was being overbearing as always. –Your horses are ready – adamantly she'd announced – I'll see you out in five minutes.

-It's going to rain – Isabelle had protested. But Oscar had turned around as though merely wind had rushed over her head.

-Do as you're told! – she'd thrown from behind.

Their father had allowed her to enjoy of a significant amount of authority over them, for apparently, she'd been a key element in their survival. In difficult times for him she'd taken care of them and even from afar, away in campaigns, she still managed to keep her omnipresent eye over them. It'd been a very noble gesture toward him, a great aid to a father deprived of a wife but to the twins it was the everlasting and supreme right to drag them whenever and wherever she felt like it.

The weather was fine, but not for too long. Oscar refused to give that little prognosticator the reason; for clouds were heading toward south, the rays of the sun had turned into faded beams and the foliage of woods embroidering the side of the roads began to play with the cool breeze that signaled the start of bad weather. – The wind will take them away – Oscar said even though clouds were turning grayer and thicker. Isabelle bitted her lips: I was right, she kept thinking all the way.

Only after a long ride they reached a sandstone beach, guarded by a massive stroke of waves hitting and banging against rocks and high cliffs; natural fortresses surrounded them side by side. After a quick revision to the sights, Alexandre dismounted –Marveilleux! – he said; for endless gray colored shades a lowering sky delivered. Clouds in constant movement released sunlight to then swallow it again, the air was damped and ruffled. He reached his pockets pulling a bound set of paper sheets and a few crayons; with infantile eyes, saying but a thing, he left them. With rains in hand, he began to run across the beach to explore.

Isabelle stayed put. The desire to follow him was strong, but the wind always put ladies in troubles. She looked at her dress and her braids that had already been left in tatters, knowing that it would be far worst if she began a stroll by foot. Oscar looked at her and guessed her desire; she stayed with her in a sort of solidary attitude. Isabelle resented that.

-Why are we here then, Monsieur? – she asked. Her brother had seen the landscape, but she, to the woman by her side –You knew the weather would only get worse and rain does not provide the best atmosphere for outings.

Oscar turned to her but did not reproach her this time, she nodded in agreement -Do you remember the first time I brought you to Brest? – She asked instead

-Vaguely; I was too little – the girl answered, focused over the woman's features; Oscar had never agreed with her before and if she had, seldom she had acknowledged it – I know that was the time when mother and father were in trouble.

-Exactly – Oscar answered and the girl opened her mouth only a fraction; another agreement. Not even with her father that was so affable one had the opportunity to exchange a fluid conversation around a single subject; he only bounced to another and you never got bored. His trick went unnoticed, but after years, for her and Alexandre, it had worn out.

-That's when we first met you, correct? – Isabelle said smiling to her.

-Correct – she assented and in her cordial gentleman like manner she smiled back; Isabelle's eyes were shining and had widened beautifully – _Jolie petite fille_ – Oscar added

-Merci – Isabelle said getting a natural blush after the compliment. She felt happy then. She was going somewhere with a subject that had always been of her interest and the overbearing woman had opened up in a way she had never seen before, her soul had never been so near. Yet pride, regard and appreciation, had glowed over Oscar's eyes many other times, for her and Alexandre she'd always felt that way.

Their father had been in trouble without a doubt; in a time when a law known as law of suspects ruled over hearts and minds, it was easy to be sent to prison or, in the worse of cases, to the scaffold. For that reason people began to remember those years of government as The Terror, when many lost their heads whether they were executed or not.

Until then, to those children the woman-soldier hadn't appeared before them, but when their father became absent, she came. Taking them away from a city that had turned into a swamp of infirmities and famine, she'd saved them.

A strong facade was fabricated then, it kept Oscar's image intact over the years: as the fantasy, the dream, the heroin that gained honors as years went by. Both children had seen her arriving to their Parisian house, as a fabulous specimen mounted on a jet black horse, those breeds destined to the First Consul's precious Horse Grenadiers. The image kept them at bay from her intimacy, one that in reality was quite complex.

–I waited with you until your parents returned; you remember that I'm sure.

Isabelle shook her head -Only father returned, mother stayed away, I never came to comprehend that…

–Patience, _Petite_ Grandier – Oscar said to her but her eyes were over the edge of the ocean, where ships disappeared – She will come.

-Someone's coming? – Alexandre asked, as he returned and saddle up again. At the same time Isabelle glanced to the road, it was not that far from them. She'd heard hooves and the rattle they carried. Horses were dragging up a carriage box, they emerged from trees with their burden. For a moment she thought that it would stop and that someone would descend. Her memory reactivated but recollections were pieces, fractions splurged by other people's voices "She was blond, tall, her eyes… What was their color? Green, blue or brown…hazel": People never remembered. "Papa, do you remember? You must remember" He always made convenient use of that trick of his and lately of his authority; sending them to do their homework or some other chore. "She was elegant, poised, but too smart for being a woman" close friends of hers finally said. "She will come" Oscar said, and the girl thought that maybe it would be her, maybe Oscar had brought them there to meet that mother, but the carriage kept its own way.

-There's something very important you both need to know – Oscar said and grew quite pale as she carried on. By her voice and words Isabelle and Alexandre found out for the first time that at one time in her life she'd conceived children. This did not provoke much surprise on the girl, contrary to her brother. She snapped her tongue, reproaching his ignorance; Jarjayes was a woman and that condition was completely natural to her in spite of all of her warrior habits. A sneer from the boy was the payment to her smart aleck show of abilities.

But, she ignored him turning to the woman instead – Have you had any instances to meet your children Monsieur Oscar? – she asked, altogether distracted, thinking on that carriage that never stopped.

The woman swallowed, felt warm, she couldn't feel the cold outside the barrier of her skin, but pores had opened and hairs had lifted, it was nausea or the sensation of falling into a precipice. It was time to fall. It could turn into a disaster, but there was no way back. As always, as with every decision she'd taken throughout her life, she continued forward. She needed to be seen.

-Yes, I do see them - she said and waited for those words to take effect.

-You see them? – Isabelle asked and tried to see her face, but the wind tussled with her golden hair and hid part of it, it was difficult to see her eyes or a reaction from her. For years Isabelle would wonder why she'd done it, why did she pulled the rains, why did she moved toward her, why did she moved her hair and cleared her face.

-Great – Alexandre said, but looking strangely at her – When? Since peace was signed with England you've spend all these time with us.

His words enclosed perfectly with the rest of the pieces; the puzzle was complete; Oscar visited her children regularly yet spending all of her free time with them. Isabelle got that in a second and reacted just as quickly, letting go of the golden main, trying to retreat.

-Don't ignore me! – impulsively Oscar demanded as she caught the runaway hand and the reins in it.

Isabelle didn't feel the pressure of that firm grip. She opened her mouth a bit, yet nothing came out.

– I'm sorry petite – ruefully Oscar whispered to her and her eyes revealed a vulnerable creature inside.

The girl shook her head, looked about her, searching for the unknown article that would permit her to stay afloat. The craft where she'd been living collapsed. –But…- she tried.

-What? – diligently Oscar encouraged her.

-Father handed letters from her, our mother… - she said, her body shuddered for she resisted – he said she'd had been away in travels

Oscar assented, took the girl's fingers, felt them slim, tender and soft –I was – she acknowledge.

-He named her differently… – she kept saying, her tiny chest up and down repeatedly.

-I tried to bare that name… – she answered. By his side the boy didn't move, said nothing, but his horse kicked over the sand. She held the hand in her palm even tighter, shook it softly – Isabelle- she called her.

Isabelle looked at her. Oscar realized she had a tiny letter drawn up on her mouth again; it could be any letter from the alphabet. Words could not describe what she was feeling or thinking; a new alphabet was needed in order to do that. -May we leave? Is getting dark, father might worry – she finally asked, hurried and desperate, already pulling and trying to get back her reins.

-Isabelle – she named her one last time, the strength in her broke and let the girl to retreat – yes, we may… Alexandre – she called – we're leaving.

-What did you expect with this? – he tossed her, as he jerked his head toward her – acceptance?

-What? – she returned as if someone had slapped her or stunned her.

Alexandre scoffed and looked away, shook his head. He hadn't been away from them, but went quiet as they'd developed their tiny dialogue. All the while he'd felt the wind and heard the waves, knowing that both were responsible for the salt over his lips. He'd tasted, and comprehended that natural process but, what Jarjayes had just said did not make sense; for sure, all he'd just heard, was a figment of his imagination.

He turned to his sister and checked her trying to find in her a way to get out of there without knowing or getting further involved. She was an unsupportable know-it-all, yet that annoyance appeared to him now as a safety net "What you're thinking is completely wrong" and her perfectly shaped little nose seemed snottier than ever. The girl's grave countenance told him that he thought right this time: there was no escape. Her cheeks were pale, her nose a bit swollen, eyes were misty and wider, like a scared little animal taken away from its habitat, but there was something else; she'd retreated from Jarjayes and that hadn't even happened in the worst of times, when she tried that character by being too smart, by retorting back when she wasn't supposed to. In spite of Jarjayes's circumstances and temper, her sister never bent her head down, show herself forthright, an attitude that seemed to divert Jarjayes, but only when others were being countered. She was used to have the last word.

But, now it was different. The wind stopped and then begun again with a fine and trying drizzle, _le crachin_ –I see the wind took all clouds away…just as you said before, _Mére_

Oscar turned her head to him, it was the first time she was being called like that, but her face was not even near of showing happiness, that "Mother" carried a load of anger and resentment -Yes – she admitted – your sister was right, rain was coming.

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Glossary

Germinal:

Was the seventh month in the French Republican Calendar The month was named after the Latin word _germen_, "germination". Germinal was the first month of the spring quarter (_mois de printemps_). It started March 21 or March 22, and ended April 19 or April 20. It follows Ventôse and precedes Floréal.

In the context of the French Revolution, _Germinal_ sometimes refers to the downfall and execution of the Indulgents, Georges Danton and Camille Desmoulins which took place during Germinal of 1794, four months before the Thermidorian Reaction in which Robespierre himself was executed. The events of Germinal 1794 signaled the beginning of the end of the Reign of Terror.

Source : Wikipedia


	2. Chapter 2

Hello again! So this is the first chapter of the story, it was pretty difficult to shape it, but is André's fault, he gave a really hard time, i just didn't know where to place his character, but I really did my best, so I hope someone likes what i did with the guy!

Disclaimer: The RoV does not belong to me, not even a tiny bit.

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I

They were only three: a father and two children. Most knew that a mother had taken part in that picture once, yet something had happened.

None of the father's current friends and connections brought the subject to discussion, not before him at least: The absent wife.

"What happened?" was the question made behind his back and it didn't come as surprise to him. A considerable amount of characters he'd known throughout his life and every single person had a murky piece of terrain in their lives, a piece of garment that didn't quite fit to their figures; something awkward to be hidden, an uncle or a child that seldom was mentioned in conversations.

Rumors said that his wife was an émigré, as she'd disappeared during the emigration of royalists while the Terror cut the heads of those who'd remained in French soil. "Must be a pain for that man" they thought, for such a remarkable citizen to have a traitor for a wife "He did well in getting rid of her".

"I never got rid of her Madame" cordial, as he was, he took the trouble to grin while correcting vicious as this "She's the mother of my children; I would never do such a thing"

No one bated with him, not if they wanted to perturb the stillness of a water mirror; People always want to believe everything is good, only if is convenient that peace is broken, if not, you may broom under the rug all the filth that passes, you're allowed to pretend is not really there.

He was a man whose age bordered the fifth decade of life. His aspect was the result of a mixture of origins. Anglo-Saxon perhaps, Mediterranean, or whatever Indo-European culture had wandered about Gallic territories. Varied bloodlines or perhaps not many, common citizens like him carried in their veins, bloodlines that no one ever had bothered to register from the beginning for posterity.

When younger, he'd been a French Guard, and for that had opened the way; little was known about him before that though.

Currently he taught at the Academie de Belles Lettres, but he still didn't know how he'd gotten there. When he looked back, it all had happened really fast. –That's quite a story – he normally began when he was asked by his children.

Twelve years ago he'd been discovered by an academic, he'd assisted him during the first years of the Republic. Due to his talents and the remarkable knowledge he possessed in ancient languages, the man that went by the name Bailly had suggested him to fill other posts involving the study of language. From one recommendation to another he ended up collaborating with scholars. Texts written in Latin, Greek mostly had been interpreted with his help. Now, after more than ten years students and colleagues entered to his class to ask for advice. Without a doubt he'd always been a good listener, an acute observer, clever enough for giving counsel, great to steer up other people's careers and lives.

He was tall, but luckily of a warm presence, that was a valuable asset, for his altitude always caused an impact on who met him for the first time, especially to his students. Of hairs that once had been fully dark, alabaster skin. He used to have a pair of eyes of olive-green hue, but most had known him with two minus one.

In spite of the fact that during the Republic he'd been dragged to habits where independent type of thought and self- efficiency are the rule, different routines had governed his life before.

Fourteen years ago he'd left a life of servitude to then assume a challenge: to show and expand the particular individual that he'd been hidden.

When André Grandier went through this story, his story, he was careful enough in not pointing out certain details. When he told that he'd been a servant, his children believed him. He'd been a valet, the servant of a noble family that for generations had filed high positions within the Royal Guards, the family went by the name Jarjayes. To the last heir he'd served there, that was Oscar.

What his children never heard him say was that by then he'd been already besotted by this woman and that as time went by his admiration for her had grown even further.

When she'd been transferred from the Royal Guards to the legendary yet now inexistent French Guards, he had enrolled in the lines she had been bound to command, but never he'd mentioned the true reasons behind his decision.

Active role some of the French Guards' lower rank officers and soldiers had had over July Insurrections of 1789. Grandier had been one of them and as them he'd broken his bows to remain faithful to the crown. André had been keen to those liberal ideals from years, but he only had decided to defend them then. His children didn't know either that what had tipped the scale in that direction, had been Jarjayes' choice to unite to the populace as well.

The wounds that he'd suffered in confrontations had been grave. He hadn't come to be obsolete, yet in time, his one-eyed condition came to be considered, impeding a new enrolment. Never again he worked for Jarjayes or any other officer for that matter.

Not long after that he married. At least for two years he was seen holding the arm of his beautiful golden wife.

Only a few were aware of the real situation: to abide to formalities, in order to sign the contract that in fact a marriage was, Jarjayes had changed her name to one that was somewhat more traditional for a bride, one that would inspire "tolerance", per say, among peers. Dresses had completed the picture and everything seemed to go by the right course.

But the thing about lovers is that at some point they believe themselves immune to mundane affairs, the most basic of needs to be satisfied in order to survive are forgotten: Food, sleep to name a few, socializing with peers and what comes with this point that is crucial in order to survive; social costumes and rules.

At sunset he saw them returning; three little points in a corner of the arched window. There was no sunset for anyone to see though; gray clouds had covered the skies and the fine and persistent drizzle still fell over their heads. He let go of the correspondence that had arrived that afternoon for him from the Academy; essays from a colleague that he'd filled with notes and corrections. Papers fell over Isabelle's Bonheur du jour as he run to the west window of the drawing room, wanting to have a closer look. Something had been off with Oscar ever since the twins blew off their candles.

He knew her very well. Every twist in her disposition, every gesture alighting in the corner of her mouth, in her eyes, the way her faraway figure moved or approached to him… He used to pay real attention to all these; a valet had to anticipate to his master's wishes, but he'd also done this thinking that a sign would fall on his lap, the signs of her love for him. Of course that never happened to be real until almost all of his youth was gone, but no job gets to be unpaid.

Unfortunately, due to this skill, he realized how wrecked she was, for her imposing and elegant ways blocked the view; in resume, she was a wall.

Horses were tired as always, but their riders were too this time, something had changed in them. Oscar used to lead them, in spite of their irritating protests to her tyranny. Now, they were silent and over passed her. The three of them descended from their animals. Oscar was the first, she tried to assist Isabelle. The girl made a gesture, refusing to the offer, leaving her mother with her arms frosted and up in the air while she climbed down from her side chair. –Oh, Merde! – André sworn, that had confirmed it all. When he saw them heading to the stables, he set out to follow them.

The stable had a rectangular shape, small if this had to be compared to other buildings with the same function but, similar in structure; the ample hall way to store equines. The entrance faced to the east. By one side there were stall boxes for each animal and each space was separated by wooden panels. By the other side, through a hall, riders could walk and have free access to the stalls while seven windows gave way to day light. André surrounded the building, as he reached for the entrance he checked them through these windows.

He could only hear the sound of hooves over the ground, the animal's snorting as they were being freed of chairs, leashes and straps. Silence ruled in mouths, there were no talks or comments, their hands moved only.

-Isabelle, wait! – he heard yelling, it was Oscar's voice; Isabelle was the first one to leave her box. But when she left the cell, she found him standing, just a few meters away from her, blocking the way out. Both, woman and child, stopped their race.

-You're late – he said. He realized he was an obstacle to overpass, because of the way he was being looked at by his little one; blatant in her flight the girl had been caught, yet the guilty one now, was him.

–You are too Father - she returned with only a thread of her voice.

André looked at the woman behind her and nodded to that affirmation that he felt as a scold –Don't be impertinent, Isabelle – he said with a mild voice, in a way he forgave that impudence, for he was late, lately everyone passed by him.

-Is my fault – Oscar said as she walked front; she wanted to reach her daughter but, somehow she got to one of the windows, her hand she laid over the sill instead of the girl's shoulder. She raised her head and eyes to him – I took them, without leave, didn't I? - Again she was able to capture André's attention.

-When did you ever solicit a leave from me? - He tried to joke, for if he was to be sincere, he was just as helpless as her; she tried to smile - You caught me off guard with your little excursion.

- I had a lie in store – she explained – I had to take care of it.

-We had a lie in store – he rectified – it is ours

-You're not be blamed André

-I took part in it

André bent to kiss his daughter's forehead, even though she regarded him as a stranger after hearing him plead guilty. She used to throw her arms around him, but now she felt rigid and clumsy and wanted André's hands away from her cheeks, but for her distaste he picked and held one of her hands afterwards.

-How was the ride Alexandre? – André asked as he rose up again. He knew it was about to get worse. "Go to your room dear" when he had to talk with him about school reports, he made good use of that phrase. But now the subject involved more people.

Alexandre was about to get the ability to turn invisible when his father interrupted him, he was beginning to feel rather comfortable inside the stall box -It was great – he retorted feeling a painful palpitation in his temples –Out of the ordinary I must say; thanks for the surprise- defiantly he said as he came out the compartment and into the hall.

Isabelle covered her mouth at that; she never thought her brother's sarcasms to be funny, but she was about to burst; either way she cried or laughed. –Is not a joke – André reproached him, and realized his hand had gotten a bit moistened, but his left hand, the idle one, was dry.

-Really? Well I'm not trying to spread hilarity – Alexandre explained in a snarl

-Hilarity…Well I see your vocabulary has improved – jesting he returned and the boy sparked in flames in less second.

-Are you discussing my vocabulary? – Frustrated the boy shout – what the hell are we supposed to do now!

– Watch your tongue and calm down; that is if you want to solve any of your queries. – Firmly he warned. He was used to parry the boy's outburst, but nothing was as it used to be.

-Alex is right to be upset – Isabelle murmured before she was able to make a nut out of her tongue.

André turned to her, left and down. Her lovely midget had suddenly grown up and didn't side with him anymore –You're in title, yes- he agreed, but it was time to use the authority batton – Now, I want you both inside the house, clean up, you need to eat and rest – he ordered them.

-I'm not going – Alexandre said – what else are you pretending to hide?

-Hide? – he said, showing one of his edges now - What we'll discuss you'll know in the proper moment.

-When? In thirteen more years?

-I'm not in the mood to discuss my terms Alexandre! – he shouted, his voice elevating over his usual and pleasant cords. Isabelle obeyed right away and gladly, out of one tug she finally got rid of her father's hand.

Alexandre walked behind her but not before having fulminated him; the lunch of a few daggers over him before turning with a grunt. When they were out of sight, Oscar walked to the entrance to watch their figures. She was hoping for a miracle but, they didn't look back.

-Are you alright? –André asked, he knew she would never answer to that. Her wellness was a certainty.

-You handle them quite well – mockingly she said

-You think so? – he said in return, wishing she would turn back to see the twist in the corner of her lips and a retort – You do remember what happened back in Paris with our boy? That was not my brightest hour.

-Even so, you do better than I; good fortune allowed me to bring them back here André – regretfully she said.

-What do you mean?

She turned around – He was quite calmed now - At André's puzzled stare she nodded, placed her hands in her pockets and began to walk to his direction as she spoke – Hours before, he was beside himself. He pretended to return to Paris by his own means.

- You chased him? – he asked but by his tone one could tell he wasn't.

Oscar stopped, crossing her arms before him.

She sighed and a hum came after. Those soft notes simmered both in silence, around was quite as well; those were the precious minutes held by the plain dusk. He stared at her; her eyes were ajar, bringing back what had almost made her heart jump up to her throat, then the long way back - it wasn't until we arrived here that I realized Isabelle was crying…, she rejected me when I - -

-I saw that – he interrupted her; the notes in her throat were about to sever –We deceived her and she's upset, it shall pass- he ended reassuringly. She regarded him for while, then closed her eyes to gather something that was about to pour, breathed in and out, opened her eyes again and carried on.

-I can't remember the last time she cried, but then again, I haven't been by her side for quite some time…These months of peace were only a fraction of their lives…

-She's a steady girl, reason why you can't remember – he said trying to make her feel better, but she gestured refusing to be consoled.

-Please don't, she didn't say much but any fool can realize she's not comfortable – she griped – Well, at least Alexandre did not leave any of his feelings opened to your interpretations.

-He never does – with rueful smile he said - I thought that by rejecting my plan, you didn't consider it wise to tell them.

-It was indeed, but irresistible, at the end I couldn't fight back.

-It was best they would hear it from your mouth than from someone else's – He answered, making a concession in her behalf.

-Looking on the bright side again, Monsieur Grandier, even now? – she asked with a twisted grin, an acid gesture to belittle another point of view and remain skeptical. She continued walking ahead, leaving him behind, André followed her figure till this one reached the darkest part of the building. She wanted to vanish but people like her can't blend.

– They were asking too many questions, reason why I pondered the idea of telling them… Oscar… – he didn't continue.

Her hands were over her waist, but as he reached her he saw a pair of clutched teeth, trying to retain sobs and moans that broke through anyway. André turned, two boys in charge of grooming the animals were coming to take care of chores. He ushered them out, shut the doors from the stables and came back to her.

Isabelle had begun to pry them just when they embraced. It was the first time the child had seen them that way, being tender and affectionate to one another, before they were only cordial and polite, they kept a sort of "friendly distance". The scene was regarded in a way where no colors or emotional appreciations struck her. The little intruder was numbed; there had been a break trough of considerable and varied information.

It was about two people hugging inside a stable; that was all she was capable to put to a process. The end.

She'd gone to her rooms when she was told, but only had reached half way there. Alexandre had bumped in with her as he pretended to lock in his quarters and never sow his face to the world again. He asked her if she felt alright and she'd said "Yes" at the same time she'd engaged her way back to the kitchen. That's what he'd said to him "I'll be in the kitchen"

"Why?" wary he'd asked. Their father never forbade them the entry to the kitchens, yet he didn't recommend it as the proper place for them to spend time in; he'd explained, these where trading spaces between the streets and the inside world. At home you'll always be safe, he said.

"Loti is pressing my ribbons" she'd said

That had sounded reasonable to Alexandre, enough to let her be. But the last they'd heard from the coach, was that a little girl in Paris in the number 15th of the rue de Fouarre, had disappeared in her mother's kitchen. She'd vanished when the trading between servants and salesmen began in early hours of the morning. Isabelle only went to the kitchen for her herbs, but after hearing that, often she avoided that space or rushed out of it when the meat vender came.

-I never noticed that pick whole before – Alexandre said behind her kneeled downed figure by the entrance of the stables. Naturally, his sister flinched.

-Me neither- she whispered when she recovered, then she quickly made signs for them to get away. She stood up and began to walk with him back to the house. When she thought they were at a prudent distance, she began again - we haven't come here for years and besides, she never left us out of her sight, that's why you don't remember.

-I remember the first letter I wrote to Madame Grandier, was here – he said, eager to skin that Madame – Now I know why Father refused to give us an address.

-Yes - Isabelle sighed. The last time Alexandre had requested for that address was the last time he'd argued with André. At least it had started that way, as a difference of opinion.

Days before, aside from celebrating their birthdays, Oscar had brought them to Brittany for the sake of peace between father and son. André had never raised a hand to any of them, but Alex had given him a great opportunity to start. Oscar hadn't wanted for him to be his first time -I don't want to do this, Alex- said Isabelle

-What?

She halted and looked at him -Remember her, she doesn't exist, she never did – poignant she said, then she reengaged her walk.

He didn't return anything to that. Instead, in a rough move he reached for her hand, playful he pulled her to him making her twirl once, he saw a smile and felt the impulse of messing and pulling the girl's hair. A pinch in his neck stopped him. He said nothing because it was too soon to admit that she was right, that their mother had always been near, but not in the mold they'd expected.

The blizzard had shut down by then, the sky opened over the west showing the last rays of light and magpies took the opportunity to sing in chuckles, like a congregation of old ladies. Rays soon went away and birds quiet down, but brother and sister stayed.

The whisper of trees lifted their skins. The wind blew even harder, filling their noses with mossy scents. A serpent cracked the sky, over the beech trees and the house, then thundered. They shuddered but didn't move, they looked at each other's faces surprised that no one had come to fetch them and lock them inside. –We're on our own – Isabelle said. Alex glared at her briefly: To be on your own was a way to determine your future, to be independent; it used to be fun to yearn for adulthood.

The newly discovered secret erased the sweet yearning, they saw the crack and got scared and angry - What are we supposed to do now? – Isabelle asked and he simply shrugged.

-We should get inside.

They focused in crossing the arched threshold of the house, in taking a few candles from the drawing room, in going through the corridor until reaching their rooms, bearing something heavy, like when one has the notion that millions of chores were to be done in very little time and as these are so many, one does not know where to start. Saturated, they entered to their respective dormitories without saying a word to each other.

Isabelle lied over her bed and fell in dreams as soon as her head touched the soft surface of her white cotton pillows. She didn't even get to change, and she was always so tidy. The last thing she saw was a blazon; a bas-relief on her chimney, a shielded Knight.

It was an old house from the 1700…, pilaster forms near windows, the stone masonry and lunettes, where one of the few things that took you back in time, the tapestry and furniture brought you to present tense. André had told her that the property had been confiscated by the government and sold as many other noble dwellings had during the Republic. At the outskirts of Paris, with similar country sites, there had been many to purchase, but Oscar hadn't given that much thought. Resolute, she'd picked that state that she kept in function but barely inhabited it.

"Laborde" Oscar had said years ago. That'd been the answer to Isabelle's query after the shielded figure on the chimney "Is the symbol of that family, of my mother's family"

André had worked a proposal with Oscar together that night, they braced themselves knowing that many other details would be needed to be explained. They settled for dinner but Alex refused to join them at the same table and Isabelle was found asleep.

-Maybe is for the best – Oscar said, daring to clear the girl's face from locks, brown threads melted into golden ones and returned to the previous shade as her fingers run across them – they had more than enough for today.

-I agree and they'll have to take some more tomorrow – he assured while placing covers over the sleeper.

Their story together had twists, many complicated twists and turns.

Oscar had been willing to turn into a wife, in spite of all that it meant to make it official. For a short period, André had remained skeptical to the idea of her wearing dresses daily for he knew, there was much more to resign than to simple male attires on her part.

He'd feared for her and had stalled for her plans.

At the end of August of 1789, the Garde Francaise had been dissolved by the King, but the Royal decree had barely touched her; she'd already resigned over July to her rank and position in the guards, before commanding an attack of artillery toward La Bastille.

By then, her nausea and drowsiness were still unreadable signs. Gradually, suspicions began to be confirmed, as her flesh tested fabrics and the firm needle work of seamstresses. Under her waist coat something had started swelling up.

She hasted things up then.

"To become into a wife will imply certain sacrifices, Oscar" a lawyer named Chatelet had warned her. "You know that a former officer of the Garde Francaise cannot be known as a bride, do you?"

"I'm well aware of that Bernard" she'd replied.

She delivered instructions, left no room for discussions and made Jarjayes, the woman in uniforms, disappear for a while. His closest had rumored that the elite officer had retired to a property over Normandy, mostly dedicating his spare time to works of charity. Oscar made sure this rumor to spread while she made the most radical changes, while her ever growing belly terminated to throw her out of her usual role. She'd had to get rid of Monsieur Oscar, for what was he to do under such conditions?

It was amazing that questions like this had troubled the mind of a citizen like her and, most of all, at the threshold of a new era that boosted liberty, equality and whatever among men…, while women stayed in their usual place and role: next to the chattel. As days and months advanced Oscar's evident and amazing fertility placed her right next to a bunch of females conforming the majority of France's population.

At the beginning of October of 1789 she married to Grandier, with the appearance of a woman she never was.

Most live with the appearance of someone they never were. As adolescents, people get the first look to that odd character, the real person they're inside; that's a scary image. Some chose to hide it, to show it occasionally or make a hyperbole of it to blend. At the beginning of that spring if 1803, the Grandier children had that first look to their characters. What were they to do was yet to be seen.

Normally, Jarjayes steered clear during reunions between them and André. She was present to the following morning though. The four of them were to have a little talk.

Isabelle was already dressed when she received the message from her father. When Madame Loti knocked to her door, she received the information, but no answer she delivered to the maid. She was busy, building up a wall. She didn't know what to do but to stick to what was already known; the life before Oscar had opened her mouth; she grabbed tight to that.

Alex would be the first one to see that wall.

He wasn't an early riser. But he'd woken up famished as he'd quitted dinner last night. When Loti had tried to deliver the message to his sister, he'd run to the kitchen to fill with whatever he could grab from tables or out from the pantry.

- That marmalade is supposed be served with my brioches! – the cook nagged him. It was the last plumb comfiture she'd manufactured in the previous summer. But he simply took it and sat before the table where fresh dough waited to be baked; for sure Annabelle Bory would have her hands full, unable to stop him.

–I couldn't find the cheese Annabelle – he apologized with a teasing smile that brought no amusement to the cook. But while he savored the jar's content, she apprised him about the early meeting.

The sweetness of the comfiture turned bitter in Alexandre's palate. His plan so far was to swallow anything, saddle a horse and stay away at least until noon without being seen by André or that woman. It was a good thing that the Chatelet boy had gotten sick and stayed back in Paris with his mother. He wondered if he would know about Oscar and if he would treat him and Isabelle differently after learning. Boys in school, would definitely hang him if they ever found out he'd a butch for a mother.

-Why did this have to happen? – he asked aloud. Later he would regret to have opened his mouth.

-Because your grandfather wanted a boy – said Madame Bory, at last free of telling the boy a bit of history.

-I always thought that man was a genius! – he scoffed. He had known enough about the officer's unusual breeding, even that his father had worked for her and the entire family, but with that memory his eyes shone, like when rainbow colors surge through a storm, the sun strikes and colors that had remained unseen rise up revealed in an arch – You worked for the Jarjayes too Anabelle? – he enquired, the cook turned around and only then she was able to take notice of her imprudent tongue –Annabelle! – his voice demanding and getting angry. There was no alternative; she nodded.

-Loti and I were send to your mamman – she said.

-By whom?

-That'll be Madame Jarjayes – she said as she turned away.

The transfixed look on Alexandre deflated into a tiresome one; the jar still had enough fruit inside yet somehow he didn't know what to do with the spoon anymore; he left both articles over the table.

-Her maiden name was Laborde? – he asked and the maid nodded again – I can't believe this: Our own parents treated us as though we were idiots, we can't trust them or anyone, least of all you! – he complained as he took his leave. When he was reaching the door to the drawing room Alex saw Isabelle already standing there. Her hand was over the knob and she seemed to have been gripping it for some time.

-Knobs are meant to be turned, Isabelle – he grunted as he opened his way to her.

-I know that – she returned, she'd a mournful frame and her lower lip came slightly forward, a girly pout -I heard what you talked in the kitchen by the way – she added. Alex said nothing, never leaving her gloomy card like gesture: A jack or a queen, any emotionless card. Her eyes travelled from him to the door. He lifted a hand and touched her shoulder

–Isabelle…? - he checked

-I'm alright – deadpan, as she was the night before, she said and turned the knob.

He was known for having a wild and explosive character. But when he had a fit she made sure to make him know: you're not here, you don't exist. Her trick was not giving him an audience, not even to his late apologies. "Sorry for what?" "I'm alright". Now; he could take that and walk away feeling relieved of any guilt for having thrown his school books over her head, for they were in good terms, yet somehow he felt annoyed for she was too tired to help him with school evaluations.

Their father invited them to seat and talk and Alex felt that passive-aggressive chit. They took the chair he signaled to them, while he and Oscar remained on their feet. He used to think those two adults knew what they were doing, now he was glad to be by Isabelle's side.

-Bonjour – they heard from their father – How are you this morning? Did you slept well?

-Quite alright – Isabelle said and turned to her brother – you?

Alex looked at her and then to his parent's, in their faces he found the proof that he wasn't hallucinating: both were frowning –What's wrong with you? – he asked. The girl only arched her brows in return; she was more than calmed.

–We know we've placed you in a difficult position –André began after a moment – We've tried to prevent your involvement and you dealing with its implications, but I see that's not possible, not anymore.

-Our situation was quite complex: We did our best to protect you from it –Oscar added

Both children stared at them. Alex had gone red and Isabelle stayed with a normal healthy color.

-You don't need to be concerned – André said - you won't be alone in this, nor you or your brother.

Alexandre scoffed, he was ready to burst, but when Isabelle placed a soft hand over his knee and asked -Alone in what? – he sat back, he recognized the trick that had swamped him in remorse and for the first time he met the angry child behind.

-"Alone in what?" – Oscar quoted. That dangerous curve in her voice used to stop Isabelle's desire to get the last word.

-Is a question – the girl said with insolent parsimony as she crossed both of her hands over her knees, at the second she saw André staring at her.

-What are you doing? – he asked, his voice was soft but one could hear a reproach under the velvety substance.

-She wants to commit suicide – Alex said. He knew what barriers shouldn't be trespass when it came with that woman and so did Isabelle.

-Be quiet, Alexandre – André demanded as he witnessed a dark matter funneling inside Oscar, irritating sensitive nerves and tissues. Isabelle regarded that as well and yet it didn't seem to care.

–To a question, an answer follows – like anything she continued. She was aware she would sting the woman by retorting back and imparting a lesson of grammar was ridiculous but it was the worse she could do to annoy her.

-Don't play games with me – stiff and severe Oscar said, an imposing shadow was raising with her as she said this – you're perfectly aware of the circumstances we're putting through discussion.

-I'm not playing games – the girl lied as she hid her fear behind the lie; she would not cave.

-I see – wry she said, leveling her voice to the one of her daughter's - you're going to the point then?

-I always had, before my attempts were frustrated.

-There's a free way before you now Isabelle – she pushed - there's no reason to approach so weakly about the matter.

-I don't know any matter, Monsieur – said the girl, touching a nerve- You gave us clues about who you are to us, but perhaps the habit to omit impedes you from saying the actual word?

-Is quite clear, Isabelle – she replied swallowing a tremor – you're a smart girl, aren't you? You'll be able to deduct it, won't you?

-The matter Monsieur Jarjayes, is that you're our mother, but giving your circumstances acknowledging you as such will be impossible – objectively Isabelle said, but her cheeks were red and a rabbit was jumping inside her chest; she'd plenty of scorn to throw, now she'd thrown half of it - is this "the difficult position" where you and father had placed us?

-Yes, it is – André said after a moment, Oscar had gone mute, staring at the eyes of that child that had resumed in a phrase an entire night of planning and discussions and evaluations to make the best out of what had turned desperate. –And that's enough out of you – he reproached her.

-Let her André that was a good approach, she left no room for misunderstandings; now we may proceed – Oscar responded as though nothing had touched her.

By the end of the family meeting, everyone had lost their appetites. At the table Isabelle left her bread aside and swallowed two cups of milk, when she was going for the third cup she realized she wouldn't be able to swallow the lump lodged in her throat.

They would return to Paris to the next day and it would be a long way back.


End file.
